The Universalist. [volume] (Chicago [Ill.]) 1884-1897, 1887-04-16

like stars and her cheeks glowed from
plessurable excitement. As she spoke
she laid her head on the Marchioness'
shoulder, who sat with her feet upon the
fender, watching the Goals as they burned
and fell apart and threw bright shower
OF fragments upon the hearth, with a far
away look in her eyes. ooh, yea,' re-
turned the Marchioness, "give childhood
a gala day and a few bon-bons, and it is
supremely happy" The Marchioness
was regal that night in velvet and dia-
monds, md she spoke in half.scornful,
half-regretful tone.
care you not happy, auntie?" ques-
toned May in the innocent directness of
youth. Never mind, child" said the
Merchionees, laughing, "but go to bed
and save your roses" care you going,
auutie?" asked May, softly stroking
the Marchioness's hand with hers, an I'M
defined feeling of sadness stealing into
that kind little heart of hers; could it be
possible that her auntie was unhappy?
"Not yet, pet" said the Marobioness,
smilingly kissing the anxious brow OF the
child. "On Christmas Eve Maria and L
always remain up until the clock strikes
twelve, and then Maria reads the Chris
mas carols aloud to me-
Oh, what delightful custom" cried
May; let ne share it with you, auntis
DEAR" to which, after some demur, the
Warehouses consented; and then, as IL to
chase the sadness from Mays brow, she
launched forth into most thrilling nara
tives, that were ipterspersed with fire.
quent laughter and CALCULATIONS from
May, in the midst of which / fell asleep
and dreamed about cur cid gentleman
who had SO often been the subject OF our
thoughts.
l dreamed that after d pleasant trip.
he arrived at Scrabble Town-that old
mining town in which he had found bis
| fortune, and had been SO unmindful of his
old comrades, upon whom now all tie re-
pressed longings and love of his heart
conferred. He alighted from tie cars with
d spring in his step, and light in his
eye long unknown to him-how familiar
everything looked. Even tho old tumble.
| down tavern seemed neither TO have gain
ed nor lost anything; as he wendell his
steps thitber, he almost expected TO see
Joe, and the other old friends issue from
| it's door; dear friends whom he should so
soon meet-joy filled his heart; there
was no place for doubt within. Tremb
ling with anticipation he entered the
door, but not one familiar face greeted
his vision; new faces confronted him.
He gazed wildly from face TO face-grew
faint and elutched at chair for support
he inquired in bewildered manner for
Joe, for Jim, for Tom; these names were
echoed from lip to lip, but no one had
heard of them; they seemed to be as ut
terly blotted out Of this world, as If
they had never existed; as If this had
never been the scene of their tolls, suf-
ferings, triumphs and despairs, He felt
amongst this new set of miners like a
type of miner now extinct. Yet those
hardy young men pitied the condition Of
the poor old man who had appeared SO
unexpectedly, and gave him q rough.
warm welcome and bed and board in tie
old tavern; which he accepted in an hum
BILE, heart-broken manner, but Re did not
utterly despair, for each day found him
wandering over the hills; searching vain
~ for his old friends. When he return
ed from these weary quests, the miners at
fret questioned him as to his success, but
perceiving that he shrank from these in
terrogations as if in physical pain, they
desisted But often as of evenings he sat
in the midst of their hilarity, a silent
bent figure, with his hat drawn low over
his eyes, that might have been taken for
statue of despair, they would cast sym
pathizing chances at him-but they knew
it was best to leave him alone with his
sorrow-he made no plant, bat found no
comfort in the kindness of strangers, his
heart had outliyed that phase.
"He is almost heart-broken, and can't
stand much more disappointment" said
one miner to another as he returned one
night, more hollow-eyed and despairing
than ever.
He sat at the table with his food IN
tasted before him-they tempted his app
petite with dainties to no avail. Come,
comrade,' said one approaching him,
"this will never do we can't see you
die from inconsistencies. Now can't you
take me for Joe?" And the warm heart.
ed young miner took the thin old hand
in brawny, firm clasp. "Now, can't you,
comrade?" The old man swallowed pain
fully, and sadly shook his head "Par-
don," he said gently, "but 1 can't l
would if I could-but thanks, stranger,
for your kindness-it man forgets such
things, God does not" The brave min
er dashed tear from his eye and rejOin-
ed his companions-tha gentle presence
had won their hearts; but his was an all
ment that they, however willing, could
not heal.
One day he had walked miles at the
mention of a familiar name, only to find
the bearer OF it to be stranger. Night
found him within the light of cabin.
He felt morbid dread of asking shelter
of a stranger and SO he lay down on the
damp grass, at the foot Of en- oak, and
s4arad II tha atara as they uneasiIy flick